Distance Learning: Clearing the Cobwebs

The cobwebs had taken over. Sarah could hardly be described as impeccably tidy, but she did have standards of cleanliness that crept up every once in a while and spurred on a bout of cleaning that left her home habitable. Looking around her sitting room, she knew that one of those bouts was well overdue. What’s more, she knew that David agreed, and her mentor had even sent her specific instructions as to how she as to go about this.

She had been thrilled at the idea at first; it had seemed perfect. The suggestion had first come months ago, not even a week after her last major “reminder” of her status as mentee, before the colour had completely faded from her bottom. He had sent a stern message, one in which his scolding tone could almost be heard emanating from her computer screen. In his typical fashion, he didn’t try to tackle the cleanliness issue in its entirety, but approached it from a safe angle, suggesting that she could be held responsible for the cobwebs that she let accumulate in her house. She had toyed with him in return, stating quite logically that the cobwebs were merely a side effect of the spiders she permitted into her apartment as part of a free and natural pest-control system, requirement in a part of the world that refused to embrace the modern wonder of window screening.

He had been unswayed, and suggested that she take an inventory of the cobewebs and report back to him. It had been suggested half in jest- not punishment, but not as benign as his usual reminders. Most significantly, it had been entirely his idea, the first reminder that she didn’t have to request herself. She had responded enthusiastically with her count (28- higher than she believed it would have been. How did those things accumulate so quickly?), eager to begin.

Then life intervened. Days became weeks became months before he had time to set the parameters for her cleaning/reminder/punishment, and longer still before she had time to execute it. She had tried to carry out his instructions on the day she received them, though had only managed to clear the clutter that had accumulated while she was away at work (how does that happen?) before she needed to get to bed.

It lingered in the back of her mind though. As she rushed off to work each day, his words rattled around her mind, enticing in a way that she was never able to completely banish. In the stress and chaos, reflecting back on his words and anticipating the upcoming event helped her calm herself and remember that there was more to life than the most recent office crisis.

She’d even used one of her longer breaks to slip into town and obtain the apron he had enquired after. He’d expressed a desire that she clean while wearing a short apron, if she had one. Far from it, Sarah didn’t have any apron whatsoever, though that deficiency could be easily addressed. Even in her small town, one of the shops was bound to have something.

It took three tries, but she eventually found one that seemed suitable, if not ideal. There were four different aprons on sale. There was a child’s apron, which, while it met the definition of “short,” she doubted was quite what he’d had in mind. Another, a floral print, was immediately removed from consideration. She would not wear flowers, could not explain why, and was not interested in examining her aversion to the print. If she were shopping for herself, she would have opted for the solid tan one, neutral and simple, but she wasn’t. As she examined the bright red fabric of the selected garment, she knew this was ridiculous. He may never even see it, and yet she felt his imagined preferences in this should outweigh her own.

When the day finally came when she had set aside time to clean, Sarah felt as awkward as ever removing her clothes. It was an odd thing, she undressed every day to wash, to swim, to change in and out of pyjamas, or even at work to change into her uniform, but she was never quite as conscious of the act as when she did so for his instructions. Movements that were practised and effortless became clunky, despite her best efforts to calm her nerves and reassure herself that no one was watching. Strapping herself into the apron was more awkward still, a feeling not at all alleviated by examining her reflection in the mirror.

The garment hung to her knees, hardly the “short” apron he had requested, but it was the best she could reasonably do given what was available in town. Well, almost- the local adult shop probably had something more suitable, though she doubted she’d ever work up the nerve to go there. There was too great a risk that she would be spotted entering or leaving by someone from work- or, worse, someone from the pub.

In any event, this is what she had, and she would make it work. She straightened her shoulders, shifting her posture to emphasise her bottom and breasts and tried not to laugh aloud at her reflection.

She turned her attention to her small collection of implements. He had allowed her to choose this time, and she was determined to make the most of that small bit of control. She considered each in turn. Her attention was first drawn to the coiled belt, a personal favourite, though its sensation was never quite right when self-inflicted. The wooden spoon and spatula were dismissed even more quickly- the heavy implements were easy enough to wield, but had far more bite than she felt necessary on this occasion.

Her gaze lingered over her newest acquisition, the cutting-board-turned-paddle that produced an exquisite sting that covered her entire bottom. She longed to use it again, though wondered if it would be appropriate for today’s exercise. It was a light implement, and took many swats to really build up enough sting to make one feel spanked, and she doubted the 28-stroke spankings her mentor had ordered would be sufficient.

She therefore settled on her hairbrush, her oldest and plainest implement. It felt a bit like a cop-out choice, as vanilla as a spanking implement could be. After a quick review of the other options she’d dismissed, Sarah nodded to herself and closed the closet door, finalising her choice.

Sarah laid herself carefully over the edge of her bed, took aim, and delivered the first of the prescribed smacks. She gasped at the pain; she’d tried for a firm swat, but hadn’t anticipated it would sting quite so much. Regaining her composure a moment later, she delivered a similar blow to the other cheek, producing identical results. She felt tears well in the corners of her eyes- was she truly that “out of practice?” She knew the hairbrush to sting, but didn’t remember it to be this intense.

She bucked and squirmed through the rest of her spanking, knowing all the while how ridiculous the whole situation was. It didn’t occur to her until later, however, that she might have changed implements. In her mind, that bridge had been crossed and burned the moment she submitted to the ordeal.

When the spanking was finished, Sarah lay for a moment gasping, mentally scolding herself for her wriggling- both for the defiance it represented and for the futility of trying to squirm away from one’s self.

She would have longed to lay a bit longer, to let the sting abate before doing something to aggravate it, but time was not on her side. Per her mentor’s instructions, this treatment was to be repeated every fifteen minutes until the cobweb cleaning was complete. Although she doubted it would take her that long, dawdling at this point felt too much like asking for trouble.

She set an alarm on her phone to remind her when the time limit was about to elapse, then retrieved the hoover from it’s corner. She smiled as she plugged it in and set up the ceiling/corner attachment. Did he know this is how she usually cleaned, or did he have visions of her with a feather duster? Would this meet his approval? She briefly thought back on his suggestion to ask his input for ambiguities like this, but after waiting so long it felt wrong to delay any further. Besides, it seemed he planned to make this a regular ritual for her, so there would be plenty of time for corrections. She would risk his annoyance in this case, and suffer whatever consequences he ordained.

Turning the machine on, she started sucking up the cobwebs near her ceiling. She tried to remember to present herself properly, pretending he was watching, but didn’t quite know what that meant. She had flashbacks to Susan of Desperate Housewives, and knew she looked even more amateurish as she prance-prowled about with the hoover, trying to stand in such a way to emphasise her bottom to her non-existent observer. For once, she was grateful that her mentor wasn’t actually here. This was definitely something that required practice, and she had no desire for someone to see her first feeble attempts.

The higher cobwebs were cleaned within a few minutes, and she knelt as instructed to clean the lower ones. If she’d felt awkward before, it was nothing to what she felt now. Between the kneeling position, dragging the hoover, trying to present her bottom and tripping over her apron, she found herself sprawling on the floor every few feet as she went along. She blushed at the thought of someone watching the debacle- this show was certainly not ready for public consumption!

Mercifully, her apartment was not large and she didn’t need to stumble around for long. She turned off the hoover with a sigh of relief and turned to her phone. She’d finished with a full two minutes to spare. Did that mean she was spared further spanking? That felt a bit wrong, to finish on a stumbly note rather than a spanky one, so she took her time putting the hoover away and locating her hairbrush, using up the rest of her fifteen minute allotment before settling down on her bed for another stinging session with the hairbrush.

It was nearly as bad the second time around. The cleaning session had been just long enough to let the sting fade to the point where the second spanking could easily re-ignite it. Whatever endorphin rush she may have had couldn’t quite compensate. She squirmed around in her bed, in an insane effort to avoid her own hand. She did manage to succeed a few times, but her rational brain took over and forced her to repeat the awkwarder strokes until each of the 28 swats contacted solidly. Only then did she allow herself to collapse fully into her pillows, massaging the sting from her behind. Now, with the cleaning completed, she felt no guilt in indulging herself, simultaneously basking in and rubbing away the worst of the post-spanking sting.

She took her time in front of the mirror as well, admiring the deep pink colour she had created, a more pleasant side-effect from going so long between spankings. Soon the chill of the early spring became too much for her, and she shivered herself out of the apron and into more covering clothing before opening her curtains and gently flopping onto her sofa to admire her work. Her relaxation was short-lived, however. The bright sunlight streaming through the windows cheerfully lit her apartment, but also cheerfully lit the cobwebs still lurking in what had previously been dark corners.

Yet again, she was grateful that her mentor was not present; he doubtless would have something to say about the delicate language she chose to employ. She briefly considered letting it be, perhaps reporting the remaining cobwebs next time or cleaning them up in her vanilla manner, but neither thought sat well. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she had failed in her assignment, and there was no other reasonable course of action than to continue as she had before.

Resigning herself to a second round, she closed the curtains again, taking care to leave small, strategically placed openings to let in a bit of light while minimising the chances the neighbours might catch a glimpse of something awkward. She changed back into the apron and glanced at the clock. Sure enough, fifteen minutes again had passed since her last spanking, and she had earned herself another. She fished the hairbrush back out from the closet, prostrated herself on the bed, and gave herself a firm whacking, cursing her poor performance that had led to this extra spanking.

With her bottom still stinging, she reassembled her hoover and began cleaning again, wincing as she stuck out her bottom and tried to angle herself suggestively, wondering if she was doing any better than she had before.

She did make sure the cleaning part went better, though. She attended to each of the trouble spots she had noticed in the first few minutes, and spent the remainder of the fifteen minutes carefully searching to make sure she hadn’t missed any others, keeping at the task until her alarm went off even though she had caught them all early on; she certainly didn’t wish to have any more surprises!

When her time was up, she returned to her bedroom and ruefully picked up the hairbrush, dreading the spanking but relieved that this would be the last- at least for a while. It wasn’t as bad as she had expected; it stung plenty, but though she swung just as firmly as before she was finally beginning to become a bit used to it- or at least a bit numb. When she had finished, Sarah again basked in the post-spanking glow, enjoying the moment for a bit before getting dressed again.

Sarah hung the apron from a peg behind the kitchen door, certain that she would need it again before long.

Spanking and all content of this blog is intened for adults only.
Many pictures on this site are not my own and are borrowed from other sites exploring similar subjects. Every effort has been made to credit the owner and/or site on which I first encountered the picture. Citations may be corrected or pictures removed by request of the owner.
Contact Kia

Search for:

Follow Blog via Email

Enter your email address to follow this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.Note that your email will not be shared with anyone other than the blog author (Kia). Only the total number of followers will be displayed.